


Demonstrative Instruction

by Eisenschrott



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 23:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11679237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisenschrott/pseuds/Eisenschrott
Summary: Piett teaches Veers how to put his handsome mouth to good use.





	Demonstrative Instruction

**Author's Note:**

> Continuity-compliant with the [Saucy Ex](https://archiveofourown.org/series/264958) 'verse, set between _The Strange War_ and _Never Kiss_. It shouldn't be necessary to read the series to make sense of what's going on (basically, an excuse for gratuitous porn).
> 
> The bit about Veers' eye colour comes from Bunn1cula's beautiful fic [_Take This Longing From My Tongue_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10685343). Title courtesy of fandumbandflummery.

“I was wondering something.” Veers put the teacup down and dabbed at his lips with a napkin. “Out of mere curiosity.”

“Do tell.” Piett lay both his hands over Veers’ free hand. Feeling up its warm, large shape was even more delightful if Piett didn’t look at it. Synthleather-encased knuckles, then a slow snaking advance towards the bare skin between the glove and the tunic sleeve.

“Beside the, well, main armaments, what is your favourite part of me? Body part, I mean.” Veers spoke in a self-assured tone, with an ironic little smile, but his cheeks reddened a bit.

“Tough question for a second date.”

“Third, if we count our celebration after Hoth as first. Or fourth, if we count that time on Blizzard 1.”

“That was an inspection, General, not a date.” Piett rolled Veers’ glove down and stroked the exposed wrist.

Veers batted his eyelids and shifted on the chair. “So?”

“Hmm.” One pull and the glove came off. Piett lifted Veers’ hand to his face. His teeth and the tip of his tongue flitted between the knuckles. “Your mouth, I believe.”

Veers wetted his lips. A beautiful little spectacle to go along with the flush on his cheeks and the half-shut eyes. “Not... not the answer I expected, but all right.”

“You could put it to better use, as a matter of fact.” Piett suckled pensively on Veers’ index finger. He let it dangle between his lips like a cigarette.

“Ah?”

“May I remind you that the first time you smoked my pole you bit me?”

Veers let out a strained laugh. He wasn’t looking Piett in the eye anymore, but rather staring a bit below. At Piett’s mouth. Considering possibilities, with the detailed imagination of a tactician. That brought the first swelling to Piett’s cock; not a twinge, just a pleasant rush of heat.

Veers lowered his voice. “Why don’t you teach me to do better?” It hitched in the end, a restrained gasp.

Piett grinned. Veers turner a deeper shade of red.

“Here or in bed, Max?”

“Bed.”

Piett stood up. So did Veers, who ran to the admiral’s bed behind the curtain. He flung himself to sit on the edge and yanked off his boots, which Piett had long since traded for comfortable—and easily kicked off—slippers.

Once Veers had removed his belt, cap and the one remaining glove, Piett stepped between his knees and stroked his shoulders. “Leave your tunic on, don’t catch cold. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Veers nodded, bent his head and kissed Piett on the abdomen through the uniform, returning the caresses on his hips. Piett bit his lip; what if he indulged his own impatience, freed the cock erecting a tent in his pants and thrust it to Veers’ face? He took a few steps backwards.

“Something wrong?” Veers asked. His voice was close to normal, but already purring with arousal.

Piett started unbuttoning his tunic. “Just a moment. In the meantime, you lie down and make yourself comfortable. Make sure you’re in a position where you can watch me when I get to work.”

With a studied lack of hurry, despite the pounding beat of his heart, Piett took off his uniform and consigned it folded into the wardrobe. Sex or not, an admiral must not have creases in his clothes. Or stains, Force forbid. Behind his back, Veers made soft shifting noises on the mattress. When Piett turned, he found him sprawled on his back, the pillows propping up his neck and shoulders. He had taken off his trousers and the elevation of the ventral cannon’s barrel, albeit far from its highest angle, was evident through his black pants.

Piett climbed on the bed and knelt between Veers’ legs. He ran his hands up and down thickly muscled, soft-haired, scar-dented thighs, savouring the change of texture as hair stood under his touch. Up and down, up and down again, up all the way to the bulge in Veers’ pants, which he cupped with both palms—tight enough that Veers tensed—and stroked with his thumbs. He smiled greedily at the deep-breath rhythmic hollowing of Veers’ belly, naked to the ribcage where his shirt had bunched up. “Easy, General. I have not launched any attack yet.”

“I... I can tell. You’re still talking like a Coreworlder.”

Piett’s index and middle fingers reached up to the pants waistband and yanked the garment down.

“Oh, finally,” Veers murmured. His half-mast cock bobbed about for a moment; Piett spat on his palm, grabbed the shaft at the base and began massaging. His other hand gave gentle rubs between Veers’ bollocks.

Within the first few motions, Veers was panting and every pant ended in a soft, sensual moan that was out of place for a man of his age and size, and thus all the sweeter to hear and to cause.

“Neither too fast nor too slow,” Piett said. “How does this feel?”

“Very good.”

Piett looked up and saw Veers had a blissful smile on his face and his eyes closed. He gave a strong pull at Veers’ balls, making him flinch and almost sit up with a growl. “You need to watch, Max. That’s the point.”

“Yes... sir.”

It wasn’t easy to ignore that handsome flushed face, quivering with anticipation and perhaps a hint of timidity. But the just as handsome cock in Piett’s right fist claimed attention. It was warmer and darker with blood now. He stroked it a few more times, bent down to deliver chaste, smacking kisses around the bell-end, and when pre-cum started leaking from the tip he gathered the drips on his fingers.

He looked up again. Veers was fighting to keep his fluttering eyes open, his upper body shook with every breath, and his eyes had turned a bright green shade Piett had only noticed when the general was furious. Piett raised his fingers, wet with pre-cum, and popped them in and out of his mouth.

Veers stared at him too dumbstruck to even keep panting, mouth hanging open, a thin trickle of drool at the corner of his lower lip.

Piett held his gaze for a few moments, then sealed his lips over Veers’ bell-end and gave it a hard suck. He heard Veers hiss, the thump of his head slamming on the pillow. Piett dipped his mouth further down the almost fully swollen cock, and laughed against the hot flesh. _Oh, Max, you’re falling apart so soon. Just ye wait, luv_. He drew both hands to Veers’ balls, one rubbing circles around and in the middle of the sac, the other sliding down to tickle the perineum.

“Firmus, ahh—!” A pair of long legs wrapped around Piett’s torso.

Piett let out a warning mumble, the motions of his tongue and lips slowed, and he glared up into Veers’ glazed eyes.

“Sorry,” Veers sighed, and retreated his legs.

Piett hm-hm’ed in approval. _Good lad_. His obedience deserved a reward. Piett slid his hands to hold Veers’ hips flat to the mattress, and sank deeper and deeper, slow but unrelenting, down the whole length of Veers’ erection.

Veers moaned like a strill during mating season. His hips shook and Piett held him in place, digging his nails into the other man’s skin for extra clarity. _Don’t move, damn yer fair eyes_.

Stars, how long had it been since last time his mouth and his gorge had been so full with someone else’s junk? Piett remained still, breathing slowly through his nose, despite the light tickle of the hair at the base of Veers’ cock. He let his throat get used to Veers, to contain him and sheath him without the reflex to refuse him, to expel his stiffness and girth from that intimate, fragile place.

Just as careful, he slid Veers’ cock out. It was red-violet, the veins bulging and the entire shaft glistening wet. The sight made Piett’s breath catch, and it wasn’t because he was out of exercise. He shoved a hand to his own crotch and stroked himself a few times through his pants; pre-cum had already leaked all over the front.

“Fir... Firmus? Are you okay?”

“What d’ye think?”

Veers ran a hand through Piett’s hair. A veil of sweat coated his forehead where Veers brushed his curls back; the gentle gesture felt more obscene than any blowjob. Piett caught that hand and lavished open-mouthed, toothy kisses over the wrist and down the fingers, gripping and stroking Veers’ cock again in the meantime.

Veers rolled his hips, pumping himself in Piett’s hold. Few words managed to accrete out of the mewling, moaning noises he was making: _Firmus_ , _yes, more_.

“More, luv, all right.” Piett let go of his hand and took the cock in his mouth, prudently not even halfway down the whole length.

Veers giggled through the horny moans. “You’re funny... your cheeks... with your cheeks all puffed...” Piett didn’t bother listening to him further. His own sucking and lapping noises were blocking out any external sounds anyway. But they wouldn’t block the beep of his comlink; he prayed to the Force, to Old Boonta and to the thief-gods of Axxila that Lord Vader did not need him on the bridge now or at any other time tonight. The _Millennium Falcon_ wasn’t estimated to reach Bespin for another standard—

“Firmus, I’m... I...”

Piett increased speed and pressure. His forehead knocked on the rock-hard tense muscles of Veers’ lower belly. Veers rutted a few times, out of control, went rigid, a pulsation shook his shaft, and hot spunk flowed into Piett’s mouth. He kept sucking through Veers’ orgasm, staring up at him, making sure Veers was watching. Veers cried out loud enough to be heard in the interstellar void outside the _Executor_. And Piett made sure not to lose one drop. It wasn’t the most comfortable angle, and Veers had an upward curve that would’ve been easier to drink from if Piett had sat on his face. Maybe the general would, one merry day, learn to eat arse and enjoy the taste of that meat.

After one last weak spurt, Veers collapsed on the pillows. Every visible square centimetre of his skin was flushed, covered in sweat or both, and his shirt stuck wet to his chest that heaved and deflated in a hypnotic motion. The best thing was knowing that he, Piett, had done this to him. Wrecked him so good. His todger twitched, craving action, wetness, heat, the fit of flesh.

His mouth shut tight although a grin was tugging at the corners of his lips, Piett climbed to sit on Veers’ lap.

“Firmus, you’re wonderful—”

 _Why, thanks, luv_. Piett shushed him with a finger to his lips, took his chin, and leaned over for a kiss. Veers opened his mouth with an eager sigh that turned into a stifled whimper when a mouthful of spunk oozed from Piett’s tongue onto his. He went as stiff as a TIE fighter’s solar array. Poodoo, had Piett pushed too many boundaries too soon?

Without breaking the kiss, Veers swallowed. Piett trailed his lips to Veers’ jaw, letting him catch breath.

“So that,” Veers said in a small voice, his big, so fucking pleasantly rough hands stroking and warming Piett’s back, “is how I taste?”

“First time you’ve tried it?”

“Stars, yes.”

“Fancy pilotin’ my centre stick yerself, luv?” Piett thrust his hips back and forth, grinding his meat-and-two-vegs against Veers’ hairy midriff, his shirt, the open lapel of his tunic.

Veers rolled him to lie on his back like he weighed nothing. “Wait up,” said Piett. “Kneel on the floor. I’ll sit. You’re a beginner and I do not wish to be the second worst choking hazard on this ship.”

“As you wish, Admiral.” Veers planted a kiss on his shaft and hopped backwards over the edge of the mattress. Piett whipped his pants off, sat up in a spread-legged position and hugged Veers’ head close to his groin.

Veers busied his hands on Piett’s bollocks, while his mouth and tongue feasted on the shaft like it was a bar of candied boba fruit. He didn’t use his teeth, Boonta have mercy, but the suction was so intense that Piett nearly jumped.

Veers let go of him with a loud slurping noise and rubbed his face to Piett’s cock. “Is this good?”

“Bloody hells, don't stop.”

He peppered the underside of the shaft with kisses and licks that cooled with his breath. Piett found himself wheezing and his knees shaking. When Veers granted respite to his balls and dug his thumbs into the sensitive crooks of his hip joints, he gasped. His cock throbbed so hard it bordered on painful, and when his unfocused eyes gazed down he saw Veers squeezing the shaft at mid-length.

“I want to swallow it all, Admiral.” That blasted virginal blush, the goofy smile that was the best showcase of Veers’ blasted handsome mouth, plus the open uniform tunic, a crumpled vestige of surrendered, debased authority...

Piett bared clenched teeth. “Oh, I’ll stuff ye like a Hutt’s full o’ fat, jus’ keep suckin’.”

“Yes, sir.” Veers closed his eyes and took in as much as he could. He made a whiny gagging noise with barely half of Piett’s cock down his throat; unfair as it was to the eager dilettante, Piett couldn’t help groaning in frustration. His belly was taut and charged with pressure, blotting out all other thoughts, the tenderness and joy and his endless underlying worries; the raw need to come was all that was left.

“Max...” he croaked. His vision went blank, he cried out, and his body shot off liquid heat at the intensity of a supernova.

A wet coughing sound tore him out of the bliss before his ventral cannon had exhausted its ammunition rounds.

“Max?”

Veers coughed a few more times into his fist. He glanced up at Piett like a lad caught pilfering jogan fruits and trying to win the market vendor’s mercy; the sorry innocent expression, however, didn’t hide any guile.

“You will do better the next time. There will be next times aplenty. C’mere.” Piett dragged himself up to lie down on the bed; Veers curled up next to him. There was spunk on his lips and his tongue darted to lick it off.

“Overall you liked it, I suppose?” Piett asked after some time. His eyelids had slid closed, he wasn’t sure when.

“Sweet stars, Firmus. You taste so much better than me.”

“It’s the cigarettes. They help regulate the salinity of body fluids.” Pretty sure they did for some obscure species in the galaxy.

Veers laughed and his laughter, quieter and huskier than usual, sounded beautiful, for Piett had made it so. He’d taken something of Veers, made it his, and Veers had welcomed it as a precious gift. _Hutt’s bollocks, Firmus, you’re getting mushy and all you had tonight was a shot of rum in the tea_. “By the way,” he said, “would you mind fetching my Jamel Filters on the table? And pour yourself a glass of water while you’re there.”

“Is that an order, Admiral?”

Piett cracked one eye open. “Both are, General.”

“It’s not the cigarettes, shrimp.” Veers sat up, raked him head to toe with the most tender lover’s gaze, and bent over to press a kiss to Piett’s now soft and spent artillery. “You’re just damn good.”

“Oh, luv—” He bit back a quip about never having slurped any true good blaster, before his Axxilan gutter mind could throw it at Veers. A hand mussed his hair and he received the caress with eyes closed. A military tunic was laid over him.

“Don’t catch cold,” whispered Veers. Piett listened to that beautiful sweet-hearted bastard’s footfalls and to the Denoni tune he hummed on the way to the tea table, an unexpected, best-left-unexplained pang of remorse keeping him awake.


End file.
